The day we came home

The first thing that happened was we overslept.


Our taxi driver got us to the airport just in time and we went inside to check in only to find that we had to back outside and get in a short bus and go somewhere else to find a Delta counter.

Italians are so whimsical.

Then we had to get back on the bus and go back to the first terminal.

Did I mention those whimsical Italians?

I bought a ring in Florence, so I had to go through customs. I also had to go through security twice.

Then I had to go through security three more times once I got here.

I had something else, but I forgot about it. Mercifully nobody checked, or I’d be posting from an Italian jail right now.

Our flight was full, but because we are lucky, lucky, lucky, we got on anyway. In business class.

In business class, the seats recline ALL THE WAY and they serve you smoked salmon and filet. On real china. And you get a comforter. You actually get everything you can stand, and more.

I actually felt like we got back to Atlanta faster than the rest of the plane did.

Once back, we hightailed it to Curry Honda, where I had left my car for an oil change and a brake job and they delivered us to MARTA. Free parking for 12 days!

Then it was off to the AT&T store to replace my stolen phone.

If you’ve been following along, you know that Siri and I have had a somewhat contentious relationship, so we have broken up. It’s just as well, because we were on the verge of attempted dual homicide, and I’m not so sure I would have won.

The first song on the radio upon getting in the car was “I Won’t Back Down,” and then Grimace and I were driving through Ansley Park back to the house and there was my good friend Theo out walking home. Two excellent omens!

After all that, I went up to my DF Jennifer’s to retrieve my bad little dog, who I think might have wanted to stay with them. She has fallen in love with Jennifer’s husband Kevin (but haven’t we all fallen in love with Jennifer and Kevin?). Here is the thing about going to Jennifer’s: it’s like going to your own house, only it’s cleaner and somebody brings you something to drink and they treat you like you’re the most important person in the world.

And now I am settled in at home again. Except the empty suitcase is still in the living room floor and I have odds and ends to put away.

My first match of the spring tennis season is this Sunday, and I picked up my new shoes yesterday. I’m ready.

I miss Rome, but I’m glad to be home. I missed my chirren and my dog and my friends and my car. I had a wonderful time, and I’ll be going back. But it’s good to be here just as Atlanta enters its prettiest time of year.

About S.

Reader, writer, talker, knitter, picture taker, tennis player, music lover, Southerner.
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2 Responses to The day we came home

  1. Amanda says:

    Welcome back! Re-entry is hard but after 48 hours it’s usually back to the feeling that “there’s no place like home.”

    • S. says:

      I’m happy to be back, but I miss that morning cappuccino every day. I really, really miss that.

      I have to figure out a way to go back every year.

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